Trouble for James
by Soldier of the Rails
Summary: James accidentally destroys Michiru's violin and the two become enemies. Years later Haruka becomes his drivers, but she is in love with Michiru and James is not happy at all.


One Sunday evening Henry was running quite late with his passenger train, and people waiting for the train were becoming impatient and angry. The next day would be a busy one for most of them and they wanted to get home to rest. Among the passengers at Wellsworth station was a young woman who waited for her husband with her daughter Michiru by her side. Michiru was ten years old and was never seen without her precious violin, a Christmas gift from her father. Michiru was growing bored and began to play her violin. "Michiru! You can't play your violin here!" her mother chided her, but Michiru was already a very talented violinist and everyone was happy to hear her play.

"We don't mind," said an elderly woman, "she plays beautifully." Everyone's anger seemed to melt away and some even forgot the train was very late, that is until they heard an engine's whistle. They all moved forward and someone accidently pushed poor Michiru who lost her grip on her violin which flew out of her hands, and onto the tracks. Michiru could hear the engine coming closer, and she knew there was no time to retrieve her violin.

Then engine was not Henry but James, one of the new engines on Sir Topham Hatt's railway. "STOP! Please stop!" Michiru cried. James was confused. He was pulling cars not coaches, so he didn't understand why Michiru wanted him to stop. He'd been stuck in the yard for weeks and was enjoying his day out very much, and did not want to stop, but his driver made him. He'd been having trouble with his brakes and he had difficulty stopping quickly. His wheels screeched as his driver applied his brakes, but it was too late. Michiru watched helplessly as her violin was crushed beneath his wheels. James, his driver and fireman knew they'd hit something, but they didn't know what it had been and they were very worried. Both men stepped onto the platform, expecting the worse. "My violin!" Michiru cried, tears rolling down her cheeks, "you've destroyed it!"

"A violin!" James' driver exclaimed, "What a relief. I was sure we'd hit someone…" But Michiru was furious.

"Why did you take so long to stop?!" She shouted at James. James who was in a bad mood after being teased earlier by Gordon over his wooden brakes, did not like Michiru at all.

"Quit making such a fuss. It was only a piece of wood with strings," he told her.

"James…" His fireman said in warning tone.

"What?" James questioned, "It was."

"It was a gift from my father!" Michiru shouted, picked up a stone and hurled it at James. It hit his boiler, but thankfully it was such a small stone that it caused no damage apart from a small scratch on his black coat. James was upset, and so were his driver and fireman. They were very fond of him already.

"Michiru, what's gotten into you?! " Michiru's mother exclaimed. "This engine didn't mean to destroy your violin and I warned you to leave it at home. I knew something would happen to it. Now apologize at once, young lady!" She ordered. Michiru crossed her arms.

"He called my violin a piece of wood with strings. I won't apologize unless he does so first," she said stubbornly.

"I will not apologize," said the red engine, "I refuse." Finally Henry arrived and whistled impatiently for James to get out of the way.

"Out of my way, James," Henry said crossly. He was tired of his passengers' complaints and was hoping to make up time. Everyone was glaring at James', his driver and fireman now. They were all eager to get on their train.

"Yes," Michiru said, "you really shouldn't get in the way of _important_ engines." James was furious. He did not want to move, especially because it was Michiru who had said he should.

"Come on old boy," Said his driver. "You wouldn't want to end up stuck in the yard again, would you?" James didn't want to work in the yard again, so he reluctantly continued on his way.


End file.
